


Heartsick and Eyes Filled Up With Blue

by gunboots



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Frottage, Gaby just wanted to sleep in peace, I say au but really everything is the same, I'm Sorry, M/M, Napoleon really likes getting bitten, just illya is a vampire, once again something no one wanted but me, sorry not sorry but mostly sorry, this is still pretty vanilla idk, vampire!illya au, what is this fandom doing to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 11:24:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4785581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunboots/pseuds/gunboots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hypothetically, since vampires don't exist Agent Kuryakin...I'd ask you where you've hidden all the bodies." Napoleon says, heart pounding in his ears and wondering if Illya can hear it too.</p><p>"Hypothetically then, I do not need to hide bodies, there are many who volunteer for me to feed from them. " Illya's almost smirking and when he opens his mouth Napoleon realizes just how sharp his teeth are. "I would assure that neither you  or Gaby would be in danger...unless you wanted me to bite you."</p><p>AU where everything is pretty much the same, except this time Illya is a vampire. Napoleon is very interested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartsick and Eyes Filled Up With Blue

**Author's Note:**

> I...I can't tell if the Man From UNCLE is the worst or best thing to happen to me? I have so many AOKAGA fics and actual homework to work on but then there was this one TsukiKane FST and I couldn't stop writing somehow. I'm sorry for what is probably a million grammar mistakes, but I figured I should post this up now before I chickened out and deleted all of it.
> 
> I'm so sorry? Originally I wanted Napoleon to reveal that he's a werewolf and they both have angry sex but then it kind of warped into Napoleon is a regular human who may have a bite fetish. I...I don't even know. This is camp, this is cheese, this is bad BL at it's finest, the title is legit from the TRUE BLOOD THEME SONG. I'd like to dedicate this to twitter, y'all are the worst and yes i'll eventually write drunken bear Illya Kuyakin--i'm just sorry he ended up getting cut from this fic lol.

Napoleon, over the course of their extended partnership has noticed a few off things about Illya Kuryakin.

"When's the last time you SLEPT Peril?" He asks, looking up from maps of a weapons silo in yet another small town in Eastern Europe. Said Cache needs to be liberated from an enterprising Millionaire lest the world descend into World War III. Again.

This was the fourth time these past three months. Napoleon was emerging on concerned about how many millionaires had access to private armories. 

"Earlier." Is all Illya grunts--he's been keeping lookout for days from the run down loft above. He occasionally comes down to grumble at them, share Intel and make calls--but Napoleon has yet to see him SLEEP.

"Gaby should be back soon--why not try getting some shut eye then? We can certainly hold the fort down for an hour...or eight."

"...Is fine. I am fine." Illya's voice brokers no argument, Napoleon can easily tilt to the left and see how he's still looking through the scope of his rifle.

"I'd rather you didn't--"

"--I can handle it Cowboy. Worry about breaking into compound." Napoleon isn't about to coddle, certainly not with someone who literally towers over him. Still, this is a mission.

"Alright then, try not to shoot anyone on accident." He calls because he can. Illya makes a huffing noise that's probably a laugh.

Maybe.

"I am better shot than you--would shoot on purpose."

\---

Napoleon chalks it up to Illya being a private person--if he didn't feel comfortable with sleeping around Napoleon than irrational hurt aside--he could understand. At the end of the day, they were still at the mercy of their nations. Who knew when Oleg was going to get tired of lending out Peril and deciding to capitalize on the convenient excuse of friendly fire?

So fine, Illya doesn't trust them enough to sleep around them. Alright.

In that same aspect, the fact he doesn't eat much around them is understandable.

...To an extent. Illya barely eats. If at all, even when the food is prepared in front of him--he rarely cooks and instead seems to only casually pick at what's given to him. 

"Do the KGB give you special training to make you immune to basic human needs?" Napoleon asks as he and Gaby pick at MRE rations, still hours away from the safe house. They're in Brazil now, chasing after stolen intel, and even though the night is cooler it's not by much. The humidity and the mosquitoes are not adding to his mood.

Illya's eyes are on the road as he continues to drive, his lips twitch upwards. Napoleon isn't even sure HOW he's able to drive in the inky density of the rainforest jungle but he's not about to take over. There's a noticeable difference in Illya between day and night. He's still an effective agent, lethally so, during day time. At night however, he's improved somehow. Almost like he was MADE for night missions.

"Something like this." He concedes, amused at some private joke.

"Teach me them sometime--your ability to remain spry in even the worse situations is just getting down right UNFAIR." Gaby snickers in agreement, peeling the wrapper off her MRE and pinching her nose. Sadly it doesn't do much to alleviate taste.

"Not something you want to learn." Illya remarks after a moment, somber as he takes a left and the first glitter of lights signal the beginning of civilization. He doesn't say anything else after that.

\---

A month later, they're in Dublin in a secluded cabin. Gaby is currently in bed, sleeping off a fever. So far their orders are to stay put until she recovers. It's been a quiet two days so far and already Napoleon is feeling anxious. It's unfortunately given him a lot of time to pick apart the last few months of his partnership with Illya. It's possible that he's also become increasingly obsessed with puzzling out just exactly WHAT Illya Kuryakin was. A million little tells all stand out, not including the time Illya threw a MOTORCYCLE and the not-so-recently deceased Mr. Vinciguerra, as well as the time he pulled off the bumper off of Gaby's car. 

_What had been waiting for him had been barely human_ indeed. If Napoleon were the superstitious sort, he'd swear that his initial commentary was correct after all. 

There's effective agent training and then there is just the downright impossible. 

Illya is rapidly falling into column B.

The problem is...Napoleon doesn't know how to confront him...or even what he may potentially dealing with.

He's also increasingly aware that this could all actually be in his head, born as a product of too much idle time and a coping mechanism for what could be more than just a physical attraction for his rival agent.

He tries not to dwell on that possibility more than he has to. Mostly cause it assumes terrible things about himself that lead to the words 'monogamy' and 'committed relationship'. 

He's almost relieved when he finally hears a door slam and saunters into the living room to find Illya wiping delicately at his mouth with a rag.

"Perfect timing." Illya just nods in greeting and otherwise doesn't bother humoring Napoleon. Instead he pockets his handkerchief.

"What is it?" He's in a better mood than Napoleon's seen him in a while, and the timing just adds to it all.

"Riddle me this Peril, how is it a KGB agent is able to go days without food or sleep, able to throw a motorcycle, and maneuver at night?" Napoleon asks, tone light. "I've got a theory but it sounds a little crazy--"

"Enlighten me." Illya prompts, face a study in enigmatic. The rim of his hat casts shadows around his face and it makes him look...sinister somehow. It should not make Napoleon just the littlest bit attracted but well.

"Well, first I considered some kind of super human experiment--after all, as good as OUR intel is--we don't know ALL that you do over there." Napoleon says, casual if not for the tension in his shoulders, as if preparing for an attack at a moment's notice. "Then I figured, if you all were cranking out super soldiers we'd at least hear SOMETHING about it. Then I considered just how very feral you can be Peril--werewolf? But we've been with you overnight on missions and you've yet to turn up as anything other than cranky. As a joke I considered vampire as well but I've seen you in the sun so obviou--"

"--What your country assumes about vampires is fiction--reality is more complicated." Illya interjects, with a small shrug, expression still blank. "I am flattered Cowboy, efficiency at KGB training makes you consider me inhuman."

"I told you it was crazy," Napoleon agrees breezily, though he pauses, considering. "You mean what EVERY country considers about vampires is 'fiction' Peril. They aren't real. They're fiction."

Illya just raises a brow, but his lips twitch just the littlest bit and he glances towards the door where they both know Gaby is sleeping.

He turns back towards Napoleon, slowly approaching and--oh, how did Napoleon never notice how tall Kuryakin was, how very strong those arms were, and how very deadly those blue eyes could be.

"Are they?" He says, tone rough and there's a flash of fang that Napoleon never noticed before when he speaks.

"Surely you must be joking Kuryakin." Napoleon says, but he can't look away from the way Kuryakin's stare is going through him, and it feels predatory. Ancient somehow.

"What would you do if I were a vampire?" Illya almost whispers, and he hasn't made a move towards Napoleon but Napoleon feels like sparks are dancing up his spine, like there's something in the air between them. If he was feeling maudlin, he'd admit he feels just the littlest bit dizzy at the intensity of it all.

"Hypothetically, since vampires don't exist Agent Kuryakin...I'd ask you where you've hidden all the bodies." Napoleon says, heart pounding in his ears and wondering if Illya can hear it too.

"Hypothetically then, I do not need to hide bodies, there are many who volunteer for me to feed from them. " Illya's almost smirking and when he opens his mouth Napoleon realizes just how sharp his teeth are. "I would assure that neither you or Gaby would be in danger...unless you wanted me to bite you."

"And why would any of us want that?" Napoleon asks, breathing hard and loud in the silence of the room. "I'm not about to die for my country, Agent Kuryakin."

"I have been told that the act is pleasurable." There's a growl at the end of the sentence and Napoleon swallows audibly at the implications of that. He can easily picture men and women throwing themselves at Illya's feet, eager for the big bad vampire to take and take. "Besides, vampires do not kill from overfeeding--only take what they need. Only if ordered to make example or inexperienced that vampire would kill...hypothetically." 

"You aren't going to deny that you are one then--hypothetically." Napoleon asks, shifting just so, exposing the thick column of his neck and the veins beneath his skin. Illya's eyes darken at the action. He licks his lips. 

"You would have figured it out in time." Illya agrees, crowding him till they're pressed chest to chest and he's practically on top of Napoleon. "I would then ask you, if you want me to feed from you--you look eager."

Illya has fangs. Actual fangs like in the old dime-store novels Napoleon used to have at home. Because he's curious and because curiosity is a fatal flaw of his...he wonders what those fangs would feel like.

Illya did say so himself…there was no shortage of volunteers.

“Then why not sate my curiosity?” Napoleon challenges, with that same cocky smirk that he knows drives Illya insane.

Illya doesn’t laugh, just makes an amused noise, before he quickly and oh-so-easily, swoops him of his feet and over his shoulder. Napoleon would be so very angry at being treated like a damsel-in-distress if he were not so painfully turned on by the casual display of strength. Illya dumps him on the bed in the other bed room, closing the door with a tap of his foot. 

“Strip.” 

Napoleon is embarrassed to find he complies almost too quickly to the order, when he glances up he’s at least relieved to find that Illya’s hands are shaking as he does the same. The air leaves his lungs at the sight. The sculpt of Illya’s body, the density of his muscles crisscrossed with scars and those biceps—why hadn’t they done this _earlier_ \--

All thought leaves him when Illya swiftly moves onto to the bed to bracket his thighs over Napoleon’s hips. If he thought Illya’s stare was intense in the living room, Napoleon’s practically frozen at the way Illya watches him now. His dick twitches at the sheer want and anticipation in his gaze. 

“I don’t have all day.” He sing songs, but he lets out a soft gasp at the way Illya plants both hands on either side of his head and noses at the column of his neck. The drag of his teeth shortly after makes Napoleon keen embarrassingly loud. He can feel Illya’s smirk against his skin. The slightest bit of pressure of sharp fangs, almost teasing has Napoleon biting his own lip in frustration.

“Do not wake Gaby.” Is all that Illya snarls, actually snarls at him, before he cuts the anticipation short and Napoleon feels the sudden, tear of teeth into his neck and even with the warning Napoleon whines at the feeling. Illya takes his blood, takes him savagely and he works his teeth with purpose. 

It’s such exquisite pain that Napoleon’s never felt before. The pain of the actual bite fading into pleasure, sensation rocking through his body as he moans and claws at Illya’s back. Illya makes a pained sound against his neck, taking and rough as he slams his hips against Napoleon’s and oh, the drag of his cock onto Napoleon’s is a little dry and kind of painful but he feels so good. Napoleon wants to reach down, wants to take them both in his hands but he can’t stop moaning, can’t let go of Illya. He’s dizzy at the way his body feels, like he wants to give everything to Illya and it must be a vampire thing—has to be.

Illya’s thrust against him feel rougher, and the slide of their hips goes smoother, Napoleon can feel the orgasm singing in his veins and he wonders if Illya can taste that too.

Napoleon comes almost instantly when Illya finally, blessedly, moves one of his hands down, and scrapes the sides of their cocks together. He lets out something pained that might be another whimper as Illya thrusts against him through his orgasm. Illya raises his head from Napoleon’s neck to grunt something that’s probably an insult, maybe even a compliment into Napoleon’s mouth before he comes, and they’re both covered in semen and Napoleon’s vaguely sure he’s bleeding on the sheets but it’s the best orgasm he’s had in a while. 

\---

"I am not telling KGB secrets to CIA." Illya says flatly after rounds three and four, as Napoleon does his near best to pout at him. “Is not my place.”

“So you told me you’re a vampire and that the KGB has more of you—but you’re not going to tell me why or even how it happened—even after the lovely evening we just had?” Napoleon figures as much, but that doesn’t mean he’s not about to harass Illya about it. Besides, it’s a nice afterglow even if his body aches and the sheets are definitely ruined and he’s very sure that Gaby is not only up but probably furious. He’s still not sure how they’re going to explain this one later, right now though, Illya is letting Napoleon rest on top of him, tracing the not-so-fresh bite marks on Napoleon’s neck.

If he wasn’t so tired, he’d probably suggest a round five. Instead, he does his best to look coyly up at Illya. "Aren't you worried about being exposed?"

Illya's smile is wan and brows raised. He drags his nails across Napoleon’s wounds to feel Napoleon shiver at the feeling. "Is not first time. Oleg considers me...a message." 

"...Message?" Napoleon repeats, dubious even as he leans into Illya’s fingers.

"Yes--that we are efficient."

"And you Soviets are all about efficiency." His neck is still tender and his cock is on the painful side of oversensitive but oh, he could see the appeal.

He always was a reckless sort.


End file.
